Monsieur Thénardier thought it was time for him to say something.
“Yes, sir, if this is your fancy, you may have the stockings for five francs. We never refuse travelers anything.”
“You must pay it right down,” said the woman, in her short and commanding way.
“I buy this pair of stockings,” answered the man, as he drew five francs from his pocket and laid them on the table, “and I pay for them.”
Then he turned to Cosette.
“Now your work belongs to me. Play, my little one.”
Cosette now laid down her knitting, but she had not left her place. Cosette always moved as little as possible. She had taken from a box behind her a few old rags and a little lead sword, and Cosette had made herself a doll with the sword.
Meanwhile the guests at the table were singing their songs more and more loudly. Cosette, under the table, was looking at the fire which was shining in her fixed eyes; she had begun to rock the sort of doll she had made, and as she rocked it back and forth she sang.
All at once Cosette stopped. She had turned and caught sight of the doll that the children had left for the cat, and which was lying on the floor near the table.
Then she let fall her little sword-doll which only half pleased her, and turned her eyes slowly around the room. The woman was talking to her husband and counting money, the girls were playing with the cat, the travelers were eating and singing, and not one of them was looking at her. She did not have a moment to lose. She crawled out from under the table on her hands and knees, looked again to see that no one was watching, then slipped quickly over to the doll, and seized it. An instant later she was in her place, seated, quiet, and turned so that the doll was in shadow. This happiness of playing with a doll was so rare for her that she was wild with joy.